


Ficlet Collection

by Andian



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, See Chapters For Additional Tags/Warnings, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andian/pseuds/Andian
Summary: A collection of short one-shots (less than 1,000 words) for Staci Pratt/Jacob Seed.
Relationships: Staci Pratt/Jacob Seed
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	1. Lima Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> "Lima Syndrome is the phenomenon in which abductors develop sympathy for their captives."

Pratt had come back and Jacob should have killed him for leaving.

"Take him to the cages", he said instead and without resistance Pratt let himself be dragged away. If his men were surprised that Jacob hadn't shot him on the spot, they were wise enough not to show it.

He should have. He stared after Pratt who looked exhausted and tired but still able to stand on his own feet and wondered why he hadn't.

"Open up, peaches." He dropped the bottle of water at Pratt's feet. The man scrambled for it immediately, hands shaking as he twisted of the bottle cap and almost choking as he greedily gulped down the water.

Jacob watched him. It had been two days and Pratt had received neither food nor water during that time. Part of him had considered just letting him die of thirst. With the Deputy having joined Joseph, Pratt's value had drastically decreased. Joseph would have let him kill Pratt, especially after he had run, had proven himself to be weak.

"More. Please." Pratt's voice was rough and barely audible. He held up the now empty bottle, his eyes bloodshot but unwavering as he stared up at Jacob.

Broken, Jacob thought, but not broken enough. He should finish the job already.

"Tomorrow," he said instead and turned away.

There was another bottle of water the next day and food. Scraps maybe but food nonetheless. Mercy not extended to any other prisoner or follower.

Jacob was beginning to think it would have been easier if Pratt had died in the mountains. Or if Jacob had killed him there. He had prepared Judges and Chosen when he had realized Pratt had left, ready to burn down the entire mountain if it had meant getting his hands on Pratt. Or rather his hands around Pratt's throat.

But Pratt had come back.

"Didn't make it very far, did you?" Jacob asked him.

Pratt blinked up at him, the usual wariness in his eyes.

"Almost made it to the Valley."

John's region and so much further than Jacob had first thought. He could have gone far enough where Jacob hunting him down would have been too much of a hassle.

But he hadn't. He had come back. And Jacob should have killed him right then for leaving. Instead once more he just turned around, leaving Pratt to the meager food and cage.

The fourth day there was more food and water and Jacob knew he wasn't going to kill Pratt.

"Training tomorrow, peaches," he said.

Pratt stopped his desperate reach for the food, staring up at Jacob instead.

"Okay," he said, voice still a creaky mess but more audible than yesterday. "Okay, Jacob."

He deserved the music box for running. He deserved pain and punishment, far worse than a few days with no food or water in the cage.

Pratt deserved death, if Jacob was being honest. Jacob thought he had broken him, but obviously not enough. He should break him again if he was so stupidly intent on keeping him around as his little toy.

Not continue to train him. But Pratt had come back.

Without really thinking about it, Jacob reached for Pratt. Pratt flinched at the touch but didn't move away, just silently stared up at Jacob.

"Cull the weak," Jacob said, voice softly echoing in the cage.

Pratt nodded and for a moment it almost felt like he was leaning into Jacob's touch.

"Make me strong," he whispered and Jacob felt his hand tightening on Pratt's shoulder at his words.

He had broken Pratt. But maybe, Jacob thought, Pratt had broken some part of him in return.


	2. Asking For It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was "Begging For Pain".

It had become a ritual at this point. At least it felt like one to Staci. Jacob gave him an order, Staci tried and failed to follow it. Jacob punished him.

Repeat ad nauseam or until Staci’s vision started swimming with red and Jacob’s hands and the pain they were causing were the only thing still anchoring him to this world. So he had expected pain for his latest failure too.

An easy enough task technically, transferring one prisoner from a car to one of the cages. But the man had tried to run instead. And Staci had stood frozen as he had done so, too numb even to really be able to hope he’d make it. Not numb enough though to not fell sick to the stomach at the sting of envy when Jacob had calmly raised his rifle and shot the fleeing man in the back of his head.

One shot and he had fallen down. A quick death. Not something you came by easily in Hope County.

“Get the body,” Jacob had said and Staci had scrambled to follow at least this order. Wouldn’t be enough, he had thought dully as he lifted up the dead man. He’d be punished for having let the man run in the first place. But the punishment didn’t come.

He caught himself staring at Jacob over the next few days. Waiting for the pain. It didn’t come. And something inside of Staci twisted at the lack of it. Made the red inside his head leak out, more and more every day until he was drowning in it and it was becoming hard to breathe.

A wave of disgust flooded through him as he stared at Jacob’s hands and suddenly realized he wanted them around his throat. Wanted them holding a knife, ready to slice open his skin. Balled into a fist, delivering a punch to his face or wherever. Needed them to cause him pain, because feeling pain was at least better than the sea of red inside his mind.

“Please.” Sinking to his knee in Jacob’s room, in front of Jacob, was easier than he had expected. Jacob stared down at him, blue eyes expressionless.

“What do you want?” he asked. Drawled almost and he knew, Staci thought. Knew what he was asking for.

“Please hurt me.” Still made him ask for it. Staci stared at the floor and wished he was somebody strong enough to not want this. Need this. He wasn’t though. And Jacob knew this too. Jacob’s hands reached down, grabbing Staci’s hair uncomfortably tight but not tugging it. Only forcing his head up so he was looking at Jacob.

“Why?” Jacob’s voice was soft, so goddamn soft, it made Staci want to scream.

“Cause I need it,” he whispered instead. He didn’t need to tell Jacob about the red in his head, threatening to swallow him whole. Jacob had put it there after all. “I need you to hurt me. Please.” And Jacob was the only one who could pull him out of it.

Jacob whose hands finally wandered lower, wrapping themselves around Staci’s throat. Pulling him out of the red and back into this world. Back to Jacob and the pain. And Staci welcome it and him.


	3. Learning To Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains breathplay.

The first time it happened, Staci wasn’t even surprised. He had expected something like this the moment Jacob’s punishments had turned into this.   
  
Turned into Jacob’s hands around his throat, choking until black spots started dancing in his vision. It made him feel like he was 20 again, spending his weekends driving to the closest city and looking for big guys with bigger hands.

Honestly, the surprising thing was that he only got hard the third time it happened. And the fact that Jacob stared at him in confusion when he noticed, grip around his throat weakening.

“What,” Staci laughed in the silence having fallen between them, voice rough and husky. “Never heard of choking being hot as hell?”

He felt light-headed and untethered, both from the lack of air and the fact that he was slowly losing every ability to give a fuck about what was happening to him. Jacob had seen him at his lowest, had brought him there. He could very well deal with the fact that having somebody’s hands around his throat got Staci hard.

A strange look appeared in Jacob’s eyes for a brief moment, partly disgust maybe, partly his usual brand of arrogance, partly…

Oh, Staci thought. Well, this was interesting. His mind was racing with the opportunity presenting itself in front of him. He hadn’t seen Jacob curious ever before. He had thought he would be the last thing Jacob would ever be curious about.

Jacob however seemed to have finally gotten not just control over his facial features but also his body back and was moving to release Staci from his grip.

He couldn’t have that, couldn’t let this opportunity for something besides endless training and punishment from Jacob slip away and without really thinking closer about it, Staci reached out and pulled Jacob’s hands back around his throat.

“Stopping halfway through isn’t the way to do it,” he said. Jacob raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think I want to do anything, peaches?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

Nothing, Staci wanted to answer. Nothing but the fact that he might be able to use this in some fucked-up twisted way to his advantage.

“Aren’t you curious?” he asked instead. “How to do this?”

Not taking his eyes off Jacob, he forced his hands, still resting atop Jacob’s hands, close around his own throat.

Curiosity sparked in Jacob’s eyes and his hand started pressing down around Staci’s throat once more.

“Hi-higher,” Staci choked out. He tried to move Jacob’s fingers around a bit, up his throat. A jolt of electricity went through him when Jacob allowed his hands to be manipulated.

“Like this.” His voice was barely audible and his vision was turning fizzy and black along the edges.

Jacob hummed softly instead of an answer. Another flash of arousal ran through Staci and he almost closed his eyes and let Jacob do his thing. Choke him until the blackness overtook Staci because after all, it wouldn’t be the most dangerous or stupid thing he had done in the last few months.

“How much?” Jacob asked though and Staci was suddenly reminded that this wasn’t about him. Not really.

“Stop,” he managed to force out and to his surprise Jacob followed his order. He took a few ragged breaths, his lungs burning with the effort, his dick leaking in his pants. Jacob watched him silently, still that odd curious look in his eyes.

“If you … if you choke me out it’s too much,” Staci said after a few more moments of heavy breathing.

“Stop and go then?” Jacob asked.

His hands tightened slightly around Staci’s throat again, eyes fixed on Staci’s face, testing the waters.

Quick learner, Staci thought, not really surprised about it.

“Stop and go,” he confirmed and then took another deep breath.

“Go,” he then said and with a sharp grin, Jacob stared choking him again.

“Who knows, peaches,” he mumbled as once more black spots started appearing in Staci’s vision and Jacob’s hands tightened more and more around his throat. “You might be worth keeping around after all.”


	4. Razor-sharp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Suicidal Thoughts

It’s the other way around, normally. Jacob tells him to get the knife out and Staci snaps to attention before stumbling over his feet to follow the order. A show of power, a game or maybe just Jacob being too lazy to shave himself.   
  
But today Jacob looks at him and scoffs.

“You look horrible,” he says and Staci says nothing because he knows he isn’t supposed to. And it’s the truth. How could he not look horrible after Jacob had happened to him?

“Bring me that,” Jacob said, nodding towards the desk where he keeps the knife. A few weeks ago Staci would have frozen to the spot, mind and heart racing with the implication of the order.

Now he just walks over to the desk, mechanically like a windup soldier, and hands the knife over to Jacob. He knows Jacob won’t just kill him like this. Mercy isn’t one of his sins.

For a moment Jacob eyes him and Staci stares straight ahead, unwilling to lose even more of himself in Jacob and his eyes.

Then Jacob steps closer to him and lifts the knife up to his cheek.

Slowly he starts shaving him then - carefully and almost softly, as if Jacob was capable of something like that - eyes completely focused on Staci and Staci doesn’t know how to react.

It’s a test, his mind is screaming at him. More training, Jacob trying to find the weak inside of him and eliminating it. Seeing if Staci will be stupid enough to attempt something.

And he isn’t stupid enough to try and cut Jacob’s throat. Not anymore. It’s Jacob after all, only Jacob, only him, and he can’t.

But, he then thinks, as the knife slowly wanders underneath his chin, shaving the hairs there, right next to his carotid. He could move. He could twist his head.

The knife had been careful so far. Not a single nick, not a drop of blood drawn. It’s uncomfortable, his face itching under the shave and Jacob is close, so close, too close, but it hasn’t been painful yet.

Jacob doesn’t want it, otherwise there’d be blood running down his face already.

But, Staci thinks, he could.

He could make it cut. He could get away. Away from the hospital, away from Hope County. Away from Jacob.   
  
Jacob presses his head up just as the thought fully forms inside Staci’s mind, harsh pressure as his fingers wrap around his chin.

“Don’t,” he mumbles and Staci blinks at him, only dully surprised that Jacob can see inside his head and all he is hiding inside of it.

“Be good, peaches,” Jacob continues and the knife is wandering over his throat, shaving the hairs that have grown there. And if he wants to escape, Staci thinks, he must move now.

“I wouldn’t let you anyway.”

And Staci closes his eyes and holds still as Jacob finishes shaving him. After all what could he escape to. There is nothing but Jacob.

Only Jacob.


	5. Living Hand To Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains slight knifeplay.

What Jacob gives him doesn’t really count as food. Raw meat that makes his stomach twist. Bread, moldy and soggy.

He chokes it all down nonetheless, the desperation of a man close to starvation. There is still some part of him yet, that wants to live. Wants to survive.

Some part that wants to bare his teeth at Jacob and tells him, if he wants him dead, he’d have to do the job himself. Staci isn’t going to just die for him.

So there is disappointment when Jacob shows up with empty hands again today.

“No food today,” Jacob says. “I don’t think you’ve earned any, have you?”

Staci opens his mouth, to protest or bargain or beg maybe, what truly is the difference anymore, but swallows down his words. It wouldn’t do him any good, no matter what his hungry mouth would spit out.

“You do good,” Jacob continues. “You get a reward. That’s how it works. You know that. Don’t you?”

An actual question this time.

“Yes, I do.” His voice is rough, his throat feeling dry. It had been four days since his last meal. He had gotten water yesterday but not nearly enough. Maybe the thirst will get him before Jacob does, he thinks and he almost laughs at the thought. Jacob would be pissed, he thinks.

“You didn’t do good yesterday. Did you?” Jacob’s voice brings him back to the present. Back to the gnarling hunger in his stomach and Jacob standing in front of his cage, watching him appraisingly.

“No, I … didn’t.” He can’t quite remember yesterday. Red, always red, and something in his hands, gun or knife or whatever, he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, expect that he has somehow failed yesterday.

“Not good at all,” Jacob says.

“No, not … not good.” Staci isn’t sure what Jacob wants to hear. It must not have mattered in the first place, because Jacob doesn’t react. He reaches into one of his pockets instead, pulls something out.

The knife isn’t new and Staci doesn’t even really notice it. He stares at the apple instead Jacob has pulled out, small but red and shiny.

His mouth waters and he swallows thickly.

“No reward for the weak,” Jacob continues calmly, not paying any attention to the way Staci is staring at the fruit. He starts cutting it with the knife, juice dripping over his hand. A small piece of apple, carefully plucked from the blade of the knife after it has finished cutting.

“No food for the weak,” Jacob says, looking at Staci then. He puts the apple piece into his mouth, starts chewing. Staci’s stomach howls at the sight.

“P-please.” It slips out of him unbidden.

“Please what?” Jacob asks, calmly cutting off another piece of apple. His fingers are moist from the juice and for a moment Staci thinks of begging to lick them clean, anything for even a little bit of the apple.

“Please, I’ll do … I’ll be better.” He might be talking of the cage or the red or any of the other thousand ways in which he seemed to be failing Jacob.

“Let me, let me be better. For you.” It doesn’t matter, what matters is being strong. Being good for Jacob.

Another piece of apple cut and Staci prepares himself for it to also end up in Jacob’s mouth. But Jacob doesn’t pick it of the blade this time around. He moves the knife towards the cage instead, towards Staci.

“Can you do that?” he asks. The knife is close, so close, and yet not close enough. Staci can almost smell the apple.

He wants to take the blade into his mouth, swallow around it and the piece of the apple. Fruit juice mixing with blood as it cuts his mouth open. So desperate to take whatever little thing Jacob is offering to him, even if it comes with pain.

“Can you be good for me?” Jacob says and Staci remembers that he had been asked a question.

“Yes.” His voice is a broken whisper but Jacob still hears it. Hears everything Staci says and maybe even thinks.

Jacob smiles.

“Open up,” he then orders softly and without thinking about it, Staci’s mouth falls open. The knife is careful as it’s pushed into his mouth and for a moment he tastes nothing but the steel of the blade.

Then the piece of apple hits his tongue and he almost moans at the taste, fresh and slightly sour. He tries to use his tongue to awkwardly push it off the knife, only manages to nick himself on the blade, the cooper taste of blood filling his mouth and almost overpowering the apple.

Jacob takes pity on him, or maybe just gets bored. He pulls the knife out of his mouth, twisting it slightly so the apple piece slips of the blade.

Staci chews on it, closes his eyes as he tries to find the taste of the apple underneath the blood in his mouth. He can’t and it doesn’t even matter. It’s food, so he eats, swallowing it greedily.

He opens his eyes again, looks at Jacob who is watching him expectantly, knife and apple still in his hands. For once Staci thinks he knows what he is supposed to do.

“Please.” He has to swallow down the blood first. It makes his voice sound less rough, his throat feel less dry.

“Please, more.”

And Jacob smiles as he cuts off another piece of apple and once again offers the blade to Staci.


	6. See The Non-believers By The Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Staci is gonna come and set those sinners free. Death of an OC in this chapter + canon-typical violence.

He had killed before for Jacob.

No, Staci corrected himself, he had killed before because of Jacob. He had killed cause Jacob had pressed something into his hands, guns or knives, hard to tell, even harder to remember. Had killed because Jacob had gotten into his head with both hands, had gripped his brain and squeezed until the person Staci once had been was gone.

Killed because of the music and Jacob’s voice. And later on, just his voice. But he hadn’t killed for Jacob.

Until now. They were out in the woods, Jacob following up on some clues about those few poor bastards that remained of the Whitetail Militia. Just Jacob, Staci and one Chosen. Part of Staci thought that this was Jacob’s version of an afternoon off. Tracking something or somebody through the woods, rifle on his shoulder and ready to shot and kill on sight.

Staci had faintly wondered if it was a reward that he had been brought along but likely Jacob had just needed another hand able to hold a gun, and his had been the ones most expandable in the hospital.

“Over there,” Jacob then suddenly said. They had been at it for a few hours, carefully combing through some wooded area, eyes and ears open for anything that wasn’t the normal wildlife.

Now though Jacob was nodding towards something on the ground, a few feet away from them.

“Pratt, Davis. Take a closer look.”

Wordlessly the Chosen – Davis – started marching towards the spot Jacob had indicated and Staci quickly followed after him. When they were closer, Staci could see what Jacob had noticed before them. There was a tarp laying on the ground, covered by leaves and moss, the type you’d use to hide underneath if you were hunting deer. Or cultists.

Staci leant down, touching it. It almost fell apart in his hands, the material having been weakened over the years through wind and other weather. If somebody had been hiding under it recently, they’d have probably started rotting too.

Staci turned around, opening his mouth to report back to Jacob when he saw it. Jacob had bent over, rummaging through his bag, his back turned to them. And next to Staci, Davis had raised his gun and was calmly aiming at Jacob.

Staci wanted to say that he had actually thought about what he had done next. That for a moment he hesitated, rejoiced at the idea of Jacob’s head exploding with the force of the bullet before the conditioning had kicked in.

But he didn’t. There was no thinking, only him reaching out quickly and pushing the gun aside. A shot rang and Jacob turned around so quickly it was almost a blur. But Staci didn’t pay any attention to him, too busy trying to wrestle the rifle out of Davis’s hands.

“Drop it,” he growled.

“He isn’t strong enough!” Davis yelled. “The Father deserves somebody stronger than him, somebody like me!”

Naturally Jacob couldn’t just have a normal resistance fighter trying to kill him, Staci thought grimly, still trying to rip the gun out of the other man’s hands. He had to find himself a fanatic who didn’t believe Jacob was committed enough to their crazy cause.

He let go of the gun all of a sudden and the man stumbled back. For a moment he was distracted as he tried to find his footing again, long enough for Staci to punch him straight into the face. Davis’ hands shot up to his face and finally Staci managed to tear the rifle away from him. Another hit, this time with the gun, and Davis crumbled to the ground. Blood was dripping down his face and he stared up at Pratt, looking stunned and confused.

Staci felt nothing but contempt as he pointed the gun at the man’s head. Weak, it echoed in his mind. Weak for trying to kill Jacob like this. Cull the herd, he thought, and it wasn’t Jacob’s voice he heard in his head. Kill the weak, the voice repeated. It was his own.

Slowly he turned his head to his right where Jacob was standing. Jacob who was watching the entire scene, expression unreadable. Staci realized that he was waiting for him.

And then Jacob nodded, just a slight movement of his head, and Staci pulled the trigger of the gun the second the order was given.

He lowered the gun then, stared at the dead man lying front of him and tried to find a trace of regret inside of him. Of self-loathing, of desperation, of horror at his own actions. There was only satisfaction though, bitter and potent. Made stronger the longer he stared at the body of the man he’d just killed.

So occupied was he with his own thoughts, that he didn’t notice Jacob suddenly standing next to him.

“Good work,” Jacob said. His voice was soft and low and for once he didn’t sound like he was mocking Staci. A shudder ran down Staci’s spine.

“Tried to shoot you,” Staci mumbled. His body felt like it belonged to somebody else. “Tried to shoot you in the back.” He was still staring at the man at his feet. Dead because of him. Dead because he had tried to kill Jacob and Staci had stopped him.

“I know, I saw what you did.” Dead because Jacob had nodded and Staci hadn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

A hand on his chin and his head was pulled to the side, firmly but not painful. Jacob was staring at him, deep blue eyes seemingly looking right through him. Staci just returned the look. He had nothing to hide. Not from Jacob. Not now, with this dead man at their feet.

“You killed him,” Jacob said.

“Yeah,” Staci answered, voice rough.

Jacob’s hand was still gripping his chin but his thumb slowly started stroking over Staci’s cheek. It came away red and Staci realized that some of the man’s blood must have gotten on him.

Good, he thought wildly. Good. For once it wasn’t his own blood he could give to Jacob.

“I killed him for you,” Staci said. Because he did. He had killed for Jacob.

Jacob who was still staring at him, still watching him intensively, still stroking his cheek and spreading the blood on it.

And Staci suddenly realized that he wanted to bare his teeth to prove to Jacob that he was strong, that he could do whatever Jacob told him to.

Kill again, if Jacob ordered. If he asked.

“Good,” Jacob mumbled. “So strong for me. So good.”

And he continued stroking Staci’s cheek, and with a shudder Staci closed his eyes as he leant into the touch, his own thoughts echoing Jacob’s praise. Strong. Good. For him. For Jacob.

At their feet the man’s blood slowly trickled into the forest ground.


	7. I Make My Weakness Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Powerplay in this one though will all the caveats of how imbalanced the power levels are between those two already.

Jacob doesn’t tell him to do this. Staci sometimes thinks he’d prefer if he did. Then he could pretend it’s him, just Jacob, just another of the million ways he is slowly breaking down everything Staci had been.

But he doesn’t. He waits for it sometimes even, until Staci breaks, until he is the one to offer.

It’s weakness Staci thinks, just like anything else he does when it comes to Jacob, pathetic and disgusting weakness. But in the half-shadows of Jacob’s bedroom, as Staci helps him out of his jacket, as he feels his hands linger a tad too long again, Staci can’t help his weakness.

Quietly he puts the jacket away, before he turns back to Jacob, crossing his arms and standing straight.

Waiting for orders, like always. Jacob just nods, dismissing him for the evening, leaving Staci to another sleepless night in the hospital. But Staci doesn’t leave and Jacob, his hands busing themselves with his shirt, stills.

“What?” he asks, challenges almost as if he doesn’t know what Pratt is doing. What he is offering by staying. But that’s part of it, whatever the hell exactly it is.

Instead of answering he stands straighter, hands clenching into fists. An amused smile appears on Jacob’s face, a cruel twist of his lips, and he lowers his hands away from his shirt.

Permission, unspoken but clearly understood, and Staci steps closers, almost tripping slightly as he makes his way to Jacob. Stops in front of him and there is the treacherous urge again, naked want rising from the darkest parts of his mind, his body.

He fights it well enough most days. Being around Jacob means pain more often than not. Hellish training seasons or betrayal of everything he stood for as a deputy who was supposed to serve, to protect.

But still, standing in front of Jacob, he wants. A barely noticeable nod and he sinks to his knees in front of him. Normally that’s all he gets, too little to later justify to himself what he is about to do. But part of him, the same part probably that gets him on his knees in front of Jacob in the first place, feels rebellious all of a sudden. 

And so, instead of opening Jacob’s pants like he’d do usually, he waits. He can almost feel the way Jacob seizes him up, and there is a certain thrill to being watched this intensively by him.

Do deer feel like this, Staci thinks, when they catch a glimpse of the wolf through the trees? They’d be mad to, but what is all of this, Jacob, Hope County, Staci himself, but pure madness in the end?

And in his own insanity, right now Staci wants Jacob to do something. Wants to be shown that Jacob wants this just as desperately, as madly as Staci. Shared weakness won’t make either of them stronger but Staci will greedily take what little he can get.

Hands burrowing into his hair for example. Pulling him forward, towards Jacob but stopping then.

“Ask,” Jacob says softly above him and Staci should have known that he’d call his bluff. He doesn’t answer but can’t get himself to look away from Jacob’s stare either.

Stand up, something inside of him whispers. Stand up and leave and force him to make you stay if he wants you like this. The hand in his hair tightens its grip and he tenses against the pain.

“Ask,” Jacob says again and his voice has turned lower, harsher, more a growl now.

Something inside Staci twitches eagerly at the tone and he hates himself for it. But he also takes note of Jacob’s rising anger at having been refused so far.

And doing nothing had never meant strength to Staci before, but before has been a long time ago and right now Jacob tugs on his hair again, harsh enough to force a painful gasp out of Staci.

And he wants this, he wants to unzip Jacob, suck him off, stay on his knees until Jacob is done, done with him. But there is a thrill to be found in Jacob’s anger too. In the weakness it betrays.

“Ask,” he says again and Jacob never repeats himself. He could have stepped away. Could have told Staci to get up and leave. But instead he told Staci to beg.

“Please,” it breaks out of Staci. Without looking away from him, he reaches for Jacob, pulling down his zipper.

Jacob stares down at him, lets him, allows him, and maybe he thinks this means Staci lost.

But his hand is still gripping Staci’s hair, not letting go as Staci puts his mouth to good use and the want twists inside of Staci at every involuntary tug on his hair his mouth forces out of Jacob.

And its weakness, this want, but there is bitter satisfaction flowing through Staci, knowing that some part of Jacob wants just as much as he does. On his knees in front of Jacob, for a moment at least he can make him weak too. 


	8. Counting Sheeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Staci and Jacob survive and end up in Jacob's bunker together when the bombs fall. This one is semi-fluffy and doesn't contain anything to warn for.

The end came like Joseph had said, with fire and brimstone and somehow Staci had survived it. He doesn’t like to remember how exactly, least he be forced to focus on the why.

“The reports, Pratt,” Jacob says, tone impatient and Staci startles out of his thoughts, quickly following Jacob trough the bunker towards his room.

They work there in silence for a few hours, Jacob hunched over his desk, Staci sitting on Jacob’s bed. There isn’t room enough for two chairs in Jacob’s room and after a few weeks Jacob had just told him to sit down, realizing that Staci was more useful if his legs weren’t shaking violently from exhaustion.

He is still tired though. Days are now spent organizing equipment, cataloguing resources and overseeing repairs. His former position as a shadow with a clipboard silently following Jacob has turned into him walking alone with pen and paper and then later reporting to Jacob.

Jacob who seems to drum with restless energy, channeling it all into keeping the bunker running and his soldiers from going insane. Staci sometimes thinks that he would turn mad too if he couldn’t concentrate on anything but work and training. He must be as exhausted as Staci, he sometimes thinks.

And still Jacob never seems to sleep. Still works whenever Staci stumbles out of his room, too tired to think and back at work when Staci returns early with his breakfast. Or those few times Staci had fallen asleep on Jacob’s bed and had somehow not awaken with Jacob’s knife against his throat.

It’s easy to fall asleep, is the thing. He is tired, always so goddamn tired, and the sound of Jacob’s pen, moving restlessly on paper, is comforting in the small room. Less noisy than the room filled with bunk beds Staci shares with Jacob’s soldiers at least. And if he just rests his eyes for a bit, for a just a moment, and Jacob doesn’t immediately hurt him for it, it’s fine, isn’t it?

Just a moment, Staci thinks, eyelids growing heavier. A few feet away Jacob is still writing, not looking up from his paper. I’ll rest my eyes for just a moment…

He awakes hours, or maybe mere minutes, later. Nights and days had become meaningless in the bunker, time counted rather by whether somebody was currently serving food in the dining hall than anything resembling a day and night cycle.

For a moment Staci freezes as he opens his eyes. Jacob maybe hasn’t punished him yet for falling asleep in his bed but Staci doesn’t delude himself into thinking that makes it actually okay. But when he looks over, Jacob isn’t watching him with cruel consideration.

Rather he is slumped over at his cramped little desk, head resting on his arms and eyes closed. Even like this he looks strung-up, shoulders tense and eyelids twitching. It looks uncomfortable, Staci thinks. Like Jacob will wake up with an aching back and stiff shoulders.

Without thinking, he reaches out for him. It’s stupid and he realizes it the moment Jacob startles awake and lunges at him. There is something Staci can’t even call a struggle, because it would require his body to be willing to actually try and hurt Jacob. He is pinned down instead under Jacob’s weight and Jacob’s hands are wrapped around his throat. Briefly he wonders if Jacob will strangle him before Jacob’s stare suddenly seems to focus.

“Pratt.” His eyes don’t soften but Staci can feel Jacob relaxing slightly. The grip on Staci’s neck lessens a bit but Jacob doesn’t move his hands away yet. Instead he stares down at Staci, expression unreadable.

“You should go … go to sleep,” Staci whispers. It’s a stupid thing to say but he can’t think of anything else to do. And it’s probably a sign of the end times even more than the fires and nuclear devastation that had rained down on the world outside the bunker or maybe just a sign of how damn tired Jacob is, that Jacob just seems to accept his suggestion.

He sinks down on top of Staci, burying him underneath his bulk and body heath and closes his eyes. They are close, so close that Staci can feel his breath grow quieter and slightly startled he realizes that Jacob has fallen asleep on top of him.

For a moment he considers moving. But there is no way Jacob won’t wake up if he moves and Jacob is in desperate need of sleep if he had just fallen asleep on top of Staci like that. And Jacob is warm, giving off body heath like an oven and there is so little warmth to be found inside a bunker in the middle of a Montana winter.

It isn’t a smart decision but when it comes to Jacob, Staci had long since moved away from anything resembling common sense. And therefore Staci just closes his eyes, letting himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of Jacob’s breathing and his warm body on top of him.

For just a moment it maybe is okay.


End file.
